A Walk in the Park
by Elaine5
Summary: An AU ND story of how they could have met


_Author's Notes: I don't own any of these characters. Those belonging to Paramount_ _and those whose books I have used._ _I posted this on Eunice's website many years ago, so apologies if it looks familiar! _

_Feedback would be great. Please. I'm trying not to beg here.  
Send it to "A Walk in the Park" _

By Elaine again, if I hadn't been there. I never would have met her.

I stretched my arms over my head and let out a satisfying yawn. It was mid summer in Seattle, and my office felt uncomfortably hot in the afternoon sun. Closing my appointment book over for the day, I closed my office door silently behind me.

I had no idea where I was going, and I was even more surprised to find myself standing at the gates of Seattle's main park. I looked in, and seeing all the people and hearing the laughter, I smiled and walked in. I reached up to loosen my tie; it somehow felt strange wearing it here. I rolled it up into a ball and placed it in my jacket pocket that lay slung over my arm. Then a feeling of indescribable childishness over took me and I sat on the edge of the path and walked over the grass, barefooted. I felt the grass spring up underneath my feet as my toes curled upwards, digging their way into the soft, springy earth. I could see my brother in my mind, shaking his head and rolling his eyes heavenwards in disgust. I did not care. I felt more alive in that moment than I had ever felt.

However, that was before I saw her.

I looked over and saw her sitting on her own. In the midst of all the people, all the couples, laughing and joking, she looked incredibly alone. Her face was cast downwards and her hands moved slowly, her lips moving silently. Then she pulled her head up and ran a hand across her hair. In that moment I felt myself die and be re-born in the same instant. One second later, I saw that she was crying.

I walked towards her slowly. Be careful. I thought to myself. She's obviously upset. Just try to help her, not scare her. I stood several steps away from her. I cleared my throat audibly and said softly.  
"Hello."   
Her head jerked upwards, suddenly and her gaze interlocked with mine. At that moment, everything vanished. The park, the people. Everything. It was as though no one else existed except her and me.

"Hello" I repeated. Is everything alright?" I asked softly.  
She looked back at me, a quizzical look on her face.  
"Yes." She replied. "Why do you ask?"  
"You're crying." I said simply.  
She stared at me at that statement and then her hand reached up to touch her face. In an instant of pure insanity I wanted to touch her. To wipe away her tears. To ease all the pain that she had. I mentally shook myself out of my dreams and saw her smiling up at me.  
"I'm sorry." She said half laughing. "Sometimes when I read, I forget myself."  
"It's Ok." I said, smiling with her. "I do the same thing." I admitted sheepishly.

She held up the book in her hands, turning the spine so the title caught my eye. Wuthering Heights.   
"Have you read it?" she asked, noticing the way my head tilted as I read.   
"Yes." I replied.  
"Oh." She said quietly, as though there was something more, another question she wanted to ask.  
"What is it?" I asked softly.  
She looked up at me, confusion marring her beautiful features.  
"What are you talking about?" she asked, confused. But her eyes gave her away. Her coffee coloured orbs knew what I meant, and she was silently thankful that I had asked.  
She sighed deeply, and shivered. A direct contrast to the sun that was beating down on us.

"Do you think it's true?" She asked quietly. "I mean…is it possible. Could a man really love a woman so much, despite everything? Despite death?"  
"Yes." I replied softly.  
I blinked in surprise at my own response. I had no idea where the answer had come from. Except somewhere inside of me, I knew it was the most truthful answer I had ever given. I smiled knowingly.  
"Have you never read "The Canterville Ghost?" I asked, my lips twitching upwards into a grin.  
She shook her head. "No."  
"Ah," I said enigmatically.  
I sat down next to her, looking at her all the time, trying to gauge her reaction. She didn't pull away or look frightened, so I figured that it was ok.

"He taught me about life and taught me about death. And taught me that love is stronger than both." I quoted.  
She looked over at me. "That's really beautiful." She breathed.  
"It was one of the first Charles Dickens books I ever read."  
"How many have you read?"  
I looked down at the ground sheepishly.   
"Umm, well actually that was the only one." I admitted, feeling like a fraud.  
She laughed at that, laughed loudly and delightedly. I looked up, and felt a smile spread across my face.   
"Why is that so funny?" I asked, trying and unsuccessfully failing to curb my own laughter.  
"Well, so many people would have lied. They would have made great claims about how good Dickens is and so forth. It's nice to hear someone be truthful."  
"So, you don't like his work, then?"   
She shook her head. "No, I hate it. I think I'm more of a romantic at heart." "Although…."her voice trailed off.  
"Although what?" I prodded.  
"Nothing." She said awkwardly. Then she paused for a moment. "It's stupid."   
"What is?" "As stupid as me admitting that I've only read one Dickens book?"  
"No. It's just different.

"There was this book, called "Isabella" charting the romance between Fletcher Christian and his cousin, Isabella. Everyone plotted and planned to keep them apart, but she never left his heart, or his hers." She shrugged her shoulders self-deprecatingly. "I told you it was silly."  
"No," I said softly. "It's not silly at all.  
"I feel a personal connection to the book, too."  
"Why? Are you Isabella?"  
She laughed at that. "No, but one of my ancestors was supposed to be a mutineer on the Bounty." "Who knows, maybe there's someone like me, in Pitcairn Island, all brown skinned and covered in flowers.

The mental picture her words conjured made me gasp. For a minute, I could see her. Her arms outstretched as she ran towards me, her body wet from the sea, the sun glistening off her mahogany hair.  
"Hey," she said, touching my arm. "Where did you go?" she said smiling. As if she could read my mind, she grinned, continuing. "I only said I was supposed to have an ancestor, not that it was completely true."  
I looked down at her hand on my arm; the sensation was incredible. Only one touch and I could feel every single tiny hair on my arm stand up straight. For a moment I could barely breathe. I wanted the sensation to last forever, but the ringing of my cell phone crudely shattered it.

I looked over at her apologetically. She had already moved her hand, and my arm suddenly felt cold.  
"Hello." I said. "Hello Frasier…..No, I hadn't forgotten."  
I glanced towards her quickly. Was I doing the right thing? I wondered. Then again, I thought….Perhaps there was a chance.  
"Frasier," I said, my voice forceful. "Something's happened…..No, no I'm alright. I have to take a rain check on the opera. Perhaps next week." I said, placating him before he launched into a tirade.  
"Ok, yes, yes…you too. Bye Frasier."

I pocketed my cell phone. "Sorry about that." I said.  
She shrugged her shoulders. "It's ok. Brother?" she asked.  
I stared at her disbelievingly. "Yes. How did you guess?"  
"I could tell. He's older, right?"  
I nodded my head, speechless.  
She laughed. "I'm a little bit psychic." She said, looking me boldly in the eye as though I was going to disagree with her.  
Nothing could have been further from my mind. Her eyes were so dark, so beautiful, and so full of life. She could have proclaimed the world was flat and I would have gladly agreed.   
"Anyways," she continued. "I have 7 brothers, so I understand what its like."  
I gasped. Having Frasier as a big brother was bad enough, but seven?! My admiration for her grew.  
"Are you the youngest?" I asked.  
She nodded. "Yes. It's one of the reasons I came to live out here."  
I looked at her quizzically. "What do you mean?"  
"Well, imagine it. Living with seven brothers, not to mention my parents. Can you imagine me trying to bring someone home? The hassle he would get from everyone!" She laughed at that, picturing it in her mind.  
For an instant, so could I. As though I was with her, years from now, her brothers talking to me, telling me about her, about whom she was. The little girl before the beautiful woman.

Then she sobered up. "No, truthfully. I came out here to build a life for myself. To get away from the suffocation. My family is great, but sometimes…." She trailed off, and gestured emptily with her hands.  
"I understand completely. My brother Frasier lived in Boston for many years, he's only just returned home. It was nice to build a life for myself without having his shadow over me."  
"Why did he come back?" she asked, and then slapped a hand over her mouth in horror. "I'm sorry, that was extremely rude of me. You don't have to answer that if you don't want to."  
I smiled. "No, its ok. His marriage ended and he decided to come back. Also, my Dad's a cop. Or, I should say, he was a cop. He got shot during an armed robbery."  
I said it so matter-of-factly that she stared at me, a worried look on her face.  
"Is he….?" She asked, not daring to finish the sentence.  
I smiled back. "Dead?" No, he's not dead. The bullet hit his hip, so he can't work anymore. He's living with Frasier now."  
I heard her breathe out audibly after I told her Dad wasn't dead.

"Your mum?" She asked.  
"What?"  
"You've talked about your Dad, not your mum." She said easily.  
I looked down at the grass for a few moments. It was strange how quickly grief can surround you, I thought. It had been years since mum had died, and suddenly it felt as though it had only just happened.  
She must have known, must have seen it in my face.  
"I'm sorry." She said softly. "How?"  
"Cancer." I replied quietly. "It happened a few years ago, but…" My voice trailed off, unable to continue.  
"But it still hurts." She said quietly, finishing my unspoken words.  
I nodded, dumbly. I could feel the tears pricking my eyes, and I looked up, breathing hard, trying to stop them from falling. I didn't want to look stupid, not in front of her.  
Then I felt her hand on my arm, soft, gentle, reassuring. I drew strength from it, and I breathed deeply, and calmly.  
"Sorry." I muttered, embarrassed.  
"Don't be." She said softly. "Don't ever be."  
I looked at her and knew that she understood. Don't ask me how or why. I just knew. It was instinctual. She smiled softly and I felt myself spinning out of control.  
"She would have liked you." I said softly.

I could hear the smile in her voice. "You barely know me." She said simply.   
"It doesn't matter." I said equally as simply. "Mum had… I don't know…like a sixth sense about people. Within minutes, mum would like or dislike someone. Know if they were a good person or not." I shrugged. "It seems really stupid."   
"No, its not. I'm the same." She said easily.  
"Ah." I said knowingly. "It's a woman thing," and I laughed.  
She laughed with me, and swiped my arm in mock disgust, and, I thought, affection.  
"Perhaps." She said laughing. "Or maybe it's just instinct."

I pondered her words for a moment.  
"Like two people instinctively know each other. Know that they are meant for each other, within minutes of seeing each other." I said seriously.  
"Yes." She replied. "Exactly like that." Her lips quirked upwards. "I thought you said it was a 'woman's thing.'"  
My lips mimicked hers. "I stand corrected." I said with all seriousness.   
Then I looked at her, and I could see the laughter dancing in her eyes. She broke first, her face coming alive as she began to laugh. Her laugh was beautiful, musical. I could see people turning their heads in her direction, looking at her, looking at us. I didn't care. Perhaps I was still shocked that she was talking to me, or more importantly, I was talking to her and not making a fool of myself.

"You never told me what your favourite quote is." I said remembering.  
"What?" she looked back quizzically.  
"Your favourite line. From Isabella." I repeated.  
"I don't think you told me yours." She said half-accusing.  
I smiled back. "Yes I did. The one from the 'Canterville Ghost', remember?"  
"Oh." She said her voice small. "I didn't know that was your favourite."  
"You think I just said it to be impressive." I said, smiling.  
She nodded her head. "Sorry."   
I laughed and shrugged my shoulders easily. "I think it might have been. But it is my favourite quote. So, I continued, what's yours."

Her head tilted upwards, looking at the sky.  
"I don't know." She said thoughtfully. "I've never really thought about it." She admitted.  
"It's alright." I said easily.  
But I wanted to know. I wanted to find out about the beautiful woman sitting next to me. I wanted to gaze into her soul, if she would let me.  
I looked back over at her. She hadn't moved. Her eyes were closed now, and her brow was furrowed, thinking. Slowly, her features smoothed, and her eyes opened.  
She turned her whole body to face me. I could feel the warmth from her skin, our fingertips grazing each other.  
"I'm not very good at this." She admitted sheepishly.  
"It's not a competition." I said reassuring her. "Just tell me what your favourite line is."

"Ok." She took a deep breath, and the next time she spoke, her tone sent shivers down my spine. It was full of longing, acceptance and overriding passion.  
"'I love you. I heard him say. And I love you, I called back, across the dark water. Loving you is the one thing in my life about which I have no regrets.'"

I stared at her, I looked into those gorgeous brown eyes of hers and I knew who she was. I had tried to gaze into her soul, but she had opened herself up to me willingly.  
Then I realized that I hadn't moved, but neither had she. She was looking at me, staring into my soul, because somewhere, at some point, I had opened myself up to her.

We sat like that, our fingertips now entwined. The only physical connection between ourselves. It was enough. Enough to make my heart race, enough to send shivers down my spine. Enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

I have no real memory of time passing. It could have been 4 minutes; it could have been 4 hours. I did not know. More to the point, I didn't care. All I know is that the sun that had been at its zenith when I entered the park had now dipped beneath the horizon. She shivered and I offered my jacket to her. She smiled in that beautiful way that only she can.   
"Thank you." She said softly.  
"My pleasure." I replied, smiling back.

My face was barely inches away from hers, and I read the look in her eyes that mirrored my own. Softly, slowly, I came closer, until I could feel her breath on my cheek, her eyes gazing into my soul. I closed my eyes, and surrendered. And then there was nothing. Nothing except her, and the taste of her, and the scent of her in my head and in my heart, and my soul rejoiced in my completion.

We broke away, slightly stunned. My eyes met hers, and in a flash of clarity, I knew she felt everything I had felt. I realized that nothing else mattered. A passing asteroid could hit the world and I wouldn't have cared. How was it possible to live for 40 years and not be alive? I wondered. How was it possible that one person could enter my soul and make me into one whole person instead of the fractured one I had been? I had so many questions, but realized that she was the answer to all of them.

Then I realized something. Something far more basic and mundane, but important nonetheless.  
"Niles Crane." I said softly.   
She looked over at me, confusion and then comprehension transforming her face. She took my hand in hers and whispered.   
"Daphne Moon."

The End.


End file.
